


To Lead Astray; Corrupt

by blehgah



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Stream of Consciousness, based on expiration date, i wrote this like a year ago and i'm just uploading it now, scout's perspective, universe appropriate swearing, which means slight internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7461783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout tries to make good on Spy's request to seduce him. It goes as well as you expect, and in turn, he gets a first-hand lesson from Spy himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Lead Astray; Corrupt

“Seduce me.”

There’s an instant where Scout is convinced Spy is talking to someone else. He glances around to make sure that no one else is around because _fuck_ that sounded gay as hell. Why would Spy want Scout to seduce him? This is about Miss Pauling, not whatever pent-up gay feelings Spy has for Scout.

“You?” Scout asks, just to make sure.

Spy doesn’t even bat an eye. “Seduce me.”

Okay, now Spy’s just fucking with him.  Or would he rather be _fucking_ him? For fuck’s– “What? _Spy_ , I ain’t gonna–”

 " _Seduce me_!“

 Alright, so the volume of Spy’s voice tells Scout he’s really not fucking around. Probably. Scout’s still not sure, but a sense of urgency is scared into him with the force of Spy’s voice.

 "Right! Right. Okay.” Scout looks at the cart. Flowers, chocolate, wine…? There is one object familiar to him, and he picks it up. A bucket of chicken. He can do this.

 "H-Hey there… Good lookin’…“ Fuck, that’s weak. But what the fuck is he supposed to do, this is the goddamn gayest thing he’s ever done, and they all _shower together_ – "I got a bucket of chicken–”

 Spy slaps the bucket of chicken out of his hands and slaps the words right out of his goddamn mouth.

 "I’m not one of your fried chicken tramps!“ Well, okay, that’s a little rude, those girls may not have been literate but dammit if they weren’t a good lay, at least. "I’m a woman!” Okay, getting gayer by the second. “I like my men dangerous, _mysterious_ …” That’s why he asked Spy, isn’t it? The bastard is the definition of both those words. “You want to be _my_ lover? Earn it! _Seduce me_!”

Spy slaps Scout across the face with a fucking dummy. This feels almost as bad as getting killed with a fish. Scout would know. And Spy has the gall to just smirk down at him, smug bastard that he is. This is a new low for Scout; not only has he _apologized_ to this piece of foreign shit, but now he’s taking his hits like a bitch. Miss Pauling had better appreciate this sacrifice when she hears about it. 

 

* * *

 

Lessons on dancing and demeanour or whatever the fuck garbage Spy is feeding him is all fine and all but that doesn’t mean Scout really _gets_ what the guy is trying to get him to do. Sure, Scout’s smart enough to copy his movements and his words, but that doesn’t mean he can apply that to _everything_ that’ll go down with Miss Pauling. And believe him, there sure is a lot of stuff they’re going to do when Scout finally tells her how he feels, that much he knows. After all, how will she be able to resist him when she knows he’s not only available, but _interested_?

Anyway.

Just as Spy picks up the mannequin to start his next lesson, Scout grabs the thing by its middle and sets it back on the rack.

“Scout, what do you think you are doing?” Spy asks, irritation already clear in his voice. He stares Scout down, a scowl pulling at his lips.

“Look–” Okay, this might be a little awkward. But. It’s for Miss Pauling. All of this is.

Rolling his eyes, Spy crosses his arms over his chest. “We don’t have all day, Scout.”

A cross between a sigh and a growl rattles Scout’s throat. Avoiding Spy’s sharp, sharp gaze, he mumbles, “Listen, I think I need a better example of what I need to be doing.”

“Are you saying that what I’m already doing for you isn’t enough?” Spy bristles. “Are you forgetting I’m doing this out of the kindness of my own heart?" 

 _Bullshit_ dances on the tip of Scout’s tongue, but he manages to hold it.

"I don’t have to waste the remainder of my time on you, Scout, but here I am. And you have the audacity to tell me I’m not a sufficient teacher!” Spy continues, “You can go f–”

“Spy!” And people say _Scout_ talks a lot. “Spy, for god’s sake, just listen to me. I didn’t even fucking finish what I was saying.”

Spy’s quiet for a moment. “Fine. I will hear you out. What is it?”

Scout can feel his ears start to get warm, which turns out to be a positive feedback sort of thing because now he’s getting embarrassed about being embarrassed in the first place. He tugs on his hat to cover his eyes.

“I was just thinking– I need a more… I need a _clearer_ example of, uh– of what it means to… To seduce someone. Y'know? ‘Cause, well, while I got my _own_ idea of what that is, apparently it’s not the right one,” Scout tells him, babbling a little, caring about it even less.

A wry smile curls Spy’s mouth. “So now you want _me_ to seduce _you_?”

Well. “Uh. I– I guess?” Scout rubs the back of his neck and finally chances a glance up at his teammate. Spy’s blue eyes are bright, amused and smug, so damn smug.

“So you would like an example of how I would go about treating a woman I would like to bed?” Spy asks, taking a step closer to Scout. “Or did you mean something else? I’m afraid you weren’t quite clear about what you wanted.”

“What I want?” Scout goes stock still, uncertain if he should back away before he becomes Spy’s prey or if he should stand his ground against this know-it-all son-of-a-bitch. He swallows. “Okay, look, I just wanna impress Miss Pauling. And if you know how to do that, then you gotta show me, man. Something that’s not just one last date before I die, you know? Something– something… more. I guess.”

Spy chuckles. It’s a deep sound, vibrating deep in the man’s chest, echoing through the room and through Scout’s bones. 

“You haven’t made your request any clearer,” Spy says, taking yet another step closer, “But I can work with what I am given.”

It doesn’t help that the two of them are in Spy’s smoking room. The lights are dim, the fireplaces crackles in the distance, and there’s a plush chair right behind Scout. Spy pushes him into it. Unfortunately, Scout is used to looking up at Spy physically because there’s a tiny bit of a height distance between them, but this? He looks up the line of Spy’s nose and into those smirking eyes, feeling his stomach drop. His words have left him now, scared right out of his throat thanks to this proximity.

Is it warm in here, or is it just him?

“If you’re feeling warm, may I suggest you remove your clothing? Whatever makes you… comfortable.”

Okay, maybe he’s not speechless. Just unaware.

As if he’d been one hundred percent aware of what’s been happening in the first place.

Spy puts a hand at the top of the chair, still leaning forward. He uses his other hand to brace the rest of his weight on the armrest, closing the distance between them inch by inch.

“Chéri, I just want you to enjoy yourself. Have a good time. I will be gentle, if you are feeling uncertain. I will take it slow. There’s no need to be shy.”

Scout’s shoulders tense. He scowls, about to tell Spy that he’s not _shy_ , goddammit, this is just fucking _gay_ and he can’t really process that. But he can’t, he finds the words die in his mouth when he looks up at Spy again, _really_ looks up. The lighting makes Spy’s eyes shine brighter, catching just the stray bits of light from the fireplace, and his expression is soft, inviting, almost. As if he genuinely cares for Scout’s comfort and well-being.

Pleased with Scout’s reaction, Spy settles his weight on an armrest, leaning his shoulder against the back of the chair. His leg keeps him from toppling over, though Scout doesn’t know how much help that twig would serve in keeping him upright.

“Comfortable now?” A moment of silence passes before Scout manages a stiff nod. “Très bien. If you have any objections, just tell me, and I will try my best to service you.”

'Service you’. Damn. _Damn._ Good god, hearing those words come out of Spy’s mouth in this context should be fucking terrifying. But it’s not, it’s really not. The words set Scout’s heart-rate through the roof, right through the roof of his mouth and his brain and past any sort of level of comprehension that Scout could ever hope to achieve.

Carefully, slowly, Spy eases his weight onto Scout’s lap. The instant that their thighs touch, Scout inhales sharply. With a smug smile, Spy reaches out to press his fingertips into Scout’s chest, pushing him gently back, savoring the quick rise and fall of Scout’s ribcage. Those fingers slide upwards, climbing Scout’s warm throat before resting on his cheek.

“Last chance,” Spy tells him. It’s… it’s gracious. It’s almost kind. But it’s also a challenge. Scout swallows the lump in his throat before baring his teeth in a strange smile.

“Just shut up and show me what you’re fucking made of,” Scout retorts.

Chuckling dryly, Spy shakes his head. “We shall see if you deserve the fucking.”

The word 'fucking’ bounces around Scout’s stomach before crumbling into tiny little pieces. Spy presses their mouths together and all Scout can think of is smoke. Smoke, smoke, smoke, he’s been breathing it in for the past hours, his last hours, though it occurs to him that at this point it doesn’t matter much since he’s going to die soon, anyway. This close, the smell of smoke clinging to Spy’s clothes invades all of his senses, the taste especially strong behind his closed lips.

Those lips don’t stay closed for very long.

Kissing Spy peels back another layer of the man, but at the price of laying himself out bare for his teammate to rummage through and rearrange. It’s hardly an equal exchange. He can’t help it, however; his senses are overwhelmed, and he barely has the energy to hold back the mewl that crawls through his throat on a journey to meet Spy’s tongue. That silver tongue of Spy’s is like steel in Scout’s mouth, clashing against his teeth and his own tongue, hacking and slicing and winning. He’s utterly defeated, his chest threatening to collapse under the pressure of Spy in his mouth and in his lungs and on his lap and wrapped around his torso like a goddamn snake.

It’s good, though. It’s surprisingly good. Being crushed under Spy’s presence is a good pain, a good defeat, it stirs a heat in his spine that encourages him to get back up, to push back, to fight that steel against his tongue with new vigor. Spy seems to appreciate it, humming low in his chest. Scout digs his fingers into Spy’s shoulders and tilts his chin up and gives the bastard all he’s got.

By the time Spy pulls away, Scout can barely breathe. He feels dizzy. Spy replaces his hand on Scout’s cheek again, brushing his bottom lip with his thumb, leather warm on Scout’s skin.

“I do hope that was an adequate example,” Spy says. His voice is even, breathing calm, and Scout wants to punch him in the mouth for being so fucking composed. “Although I am willing to provide further instruction if you feel you need it.”

Scout scowls. He grabs Spy’s lapels and drags him down to eye level. “You’re going to teach me everything you know, dammit.”

Spy snorts. After shaking his head, he leans in to touch his nose against Scout’s, his lips ghosting against Scout’s as he talks. “Miss Pauling will be one lucky lady to experience the result of my hands-on teaching technique.”

The urge to go through with Scout’s desire to punch Spy right in that smart mouth of his bubbles before simmering down under the clash of Spy’s tongue with his. It’s not long before he stops caring about who’s lucky, or about Miss Pauling, or about that watch ticking on his wrist, counting down the rest of his short life. Soon enough, it’s just him and Spy and steel against steel, tooth and nail, skin and flesh and stubbornness, plain bullheadedness.

 

* * *

 

In the ruins and the rubble, Scout feels winded for the nth time in the past seventy-two hours. For once in his life, he’s speechless.

It was all a lie. All that work, all that humiliation… For nothing. Nothing but tumorous bread and a blown up base. Miss Pauling has already high-tailed it out of there, mumbling something about her day off and adjusting her schedule for the unexpected events that occurred in RED base.

His back’s against the wall, whatever’s left of it anyway, when Spy approaches him with his hands in his pockets. Smoke envelops Scout’s senses as Spy flicks away a cigarette stub.

“So,” he opens, and although Scout can’t see his expression clearly from his position on the floor, Scout can hear the smirk on Spy’s lips, “was it worth it?”

Scout scowls. Anger brews in his stomach for a hot moment before he stomps it down with his heel, hard. Then he’s jumping to his feet, grabbing fistfuls of Spy’s suit in his dirty hands.

“Why don’t you fucking tell me?” Scout plasters on a smirk, and while he can’t feel it one hundred percent yet, the slight widening in Spy’s eyes is already giving him his much needed fuel. “You ready for round two? Class is in session, knucklehead, and Professor Scout’s got a lesson or two for you.”

Spy manages a crooked smile. “I’m certain you’ll find that I’m a model student.”

Scout grins back. His expression is twisted, just like the hand that remains anchored in Spy’s suit. He gives his teammate an impatient tug, leading him out of the rubble.


End file.
